Wind Under My Wings
by StarSteller
Summary: House elves weren't always servants. Once, they were a proud, intelligent race. Or, in other words, S.P.E.W. might actually get something done, at the cost of pulling out the pins that hold the wizarding world together. Much politics. Many characters. What is right, and what is moral? Hermione-centric, Grey!everybody.
1. Prologue: Clipped Wings

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit.

**AN:** Um

_Technically_, this is the same world as _Mercenary _(and _My Sister's Keeper_). And by technically, um, they divided in, oh, 1500 or so. I can't make heads or tails of my remaining _Mercenary_ notes (pro-tip: backups! Also, avoid dropping laptops, they don't like that) so hi. Random overpowered protagonist stuff for now. Also I'm lazy and don't want to re-figure out _Harry Potter _magic.

**Music:** Bullet for My Valentine's "Your Betrayal"

You know how I used to put lyrics at the start and end of every chapter? Well, apparently while I was gone, that got _banned_. Oh well. I hear I can still put song names and titles of bands, so I'm going to do that instead. I often write while listening to music to set the mood :P.

* * *

**Wind Under My Wings**

by starsteller

* * *

**Prologue: Clipped Wings**

* * *

_This is not what they are born to do._

_They had been a strong, proud people once. Under cover of night, they still whisper the old legends back and forth to themselves, reliving the days when, well, they weren't slaves. They had their fair share of beautiful princesses, strong princes, intrigue, the works._

_Not anymore. The treaty had seen to that._

_In hindsight, it was kind of obvious that they'd lose the war. _

* * *

Hermione woke up in a library.

She has never been in here before, she swore, but it was oddly familiar. There's a warm fire, plenty of books, and a pair of comfortable chairs around a table that looked like they were stolen from the Gryffindor common room. And sitting on one of the chairs was a young-looking woman in loose-fitting black clothing, delicately sipping a cup of tea. "Good morning Hermione," she said in a voice that sounded like the voice of thousands of people overlaid on each other.

Hermione sat up. It doesn't pass her notice that she's already fully dressed, and that the bed she was laying on disappeared after she got out of it. "Who are you?" she asked, cautiously, drawing her wand.

"I am Hogwarts. And I came to thank you for your misguided efforts to save my people."

Hermione blinked. Well, that was unexpected. "You're...Hogwarts?" She's not sure what she expected the personification of Hogwarts to be, but this was't it. Hogwarts had dark brown hair cropped rather short, and she's maybe all of five feet tall, with the lean muscles of a runner. She looked young, almost impishly so, and definitely did not remind Hermione of any sort of grand lady, and her hands are calloused, like a worker's.

"Well, to be fair, I am the conglomeration of all the elves who died building Hogwarts," Hogwarts replied. She took another sip of her tea. "But yes, I am what you would call Hogwarts' consciousness." She looked around, her eyes flitting quickly between shelf and shelf. "Nice place, by the way. Although expected. Oh! I'm entirely remiss in my manners. Please sit." She gestured towards the other chair.

Hermione did so. She wished for a cup of tea and it appeared in front of her, to her surprise. A quick wave of her wand detected no poisons, but she knew better than to trust herself to detect _every _possible poison. She's only in fourth year, after all. "All the elves who died building this Hogwarts? I thought the Founders built Hogwarts."

Hogwarts noded, rather eagerly. "Yes. We were placed in slavery after losing the Isoldian Civil War in the year 1057 and tasked with building this castle. Your four Founders designed and commissioned this place, of course, but it is my people who put their blood, sweat, and lives into it." She smiled; it's creepy when juxtaposed with her words. "And it's our consciousness that got bound to it. Hogwarts' magic, well, is mine." A pause; she tilted her head. "You're aware that consciousness can't be created, right? Or are they not teaching that these days? I don't know, I don't get around much, I only know what the Headmaster or my brethren bother telling me."

"No." Hermione hadn't ever read anything about magic and consciousness, she's sure of that. She doesn't have a perfect memory, but it came pretty close. "How did you hear of me?"

"Figured. Your kind likes to write mine out of your history books." Hogwarts shrugged. "Slavery's not politically correct these days, at least among you muggleborns. Which reminds, me, by the way, thank you. The house elves are quite unhappy about your little S.P.E.W project, I'm afraid, but I do appreciate your efforts." She sighed. "They've forgotten what freedom feels like." Dropping her head slightly, she sighed again. "I so miss running around in this world as I did in my youth, before I was bound into this castle."

It didn't take long for Hermione to put two and two together. "The house elves are your descendants." She's wondered how they became slaves before. There's no mention of how house elves came to be in any history book she's read, and she's read a good fraction of the Hogwarts library by now.

"Yes. Long years of suffering and inbreeding has sadly taken their toll, I'm afraid." Hogwarts took a sip of her tea. "They know nothing except how to serve, and so far I haven't been able to awaken them." She shrugged. "And while I applaud your intentions, it's a tad bit more complicated." A small half-smile. "You can't free those who don't want to be freed, unfortunately." She looked directly at Hermione; her eyes are pale blue and penetrating. "And this is where you come in, if you want to. But first," she gestured around her, "this place."

"It's nice."

"What? Oh. It's not mine. It's yours, Hermione." At Hermione's blank expression, Hogwarts continued, "Oh please don't tell me that they're not teaching you about mind palaces anymore." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Your kind and your silly distinction between Dark and Light magic." Another sigh at Hermione's confused look. "Oh don't tell me they don't teach you about the Medea Wars either."

Hermione shook her head. "Professor Binns only teaches about the Goblin wars..."

"You can call me Hogwarts. And of course, he did die in one of them. Anyways. This so-called distinction between Light and Dark is merely a holdover from the Medea Wars. What? The victor writes the history books after all." She drops her shoulders. "And I guess I've rarely been on the side of the victors. Anyways. I like your place; it's nicer that most of the ones I get to visit."

"What's a mind palace?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, I haven't explained that, haven't I? Well - " she breaks off to check her pocket watch " - there's not much time before dawn but I guess I should go through the basics. A mind palace is the visualization of how your mind is organized. I can see you like books, by the way, and your memory is excellent."

"Is this why the tea appeared for me?" She looked down at it, willing a spoonful of sugar to appear. It did, dropping down into her tea with a little _clang_.

Hogwarts smiled. "Yes. You catch on quickly. This is your space, you can do whatever you want with it. I should teach you how to defend it, though. Pity they don't teach that anymore. I guess it got classified as Dark Magic."

"Why is it?" It seemed like a useful skill. Hermione stirred her tea and took a sip. It was exactly how she liked it, not that that was surprising.

"I think...it's because it's exactly like learning how to lie with a straight face, and lying's classified as a sin." Hogwart shrugged. "Your people's obsession with Dark and Light. But, yes, Occlumency is categorized as a Dark Art."

Hermione nodded. One thing to look into as soon as possible.

"With Occlumency, you can guard your mind, make it run more effectively, organize it, and so on." A pause. "It used to be taught to all elven children, until..."

"You teach your children to lie to you?"

Hogwarts fixed her with her cold blue gaze. "Of course. We don't consider lying a sin, per say. It's been our greatest strength for as long as we've existed. Honor, truth, fidelity...all more obnoxious than simply leaving that behind." She paused. "When it comes to war, and I don't remember a time where we haven't been at war, everything counts." She ducked her head. "Sorry," she whispered, as if she'd just said something she wasn't supposed to say.

Hermione remembered many hours of listening to Binn lecture about goblin wars. She hasn't heard of any elven wars, but she doesn't bother to bring it up. Binn _was _a veteran of a goblin war (although Hogwarts had been quite wrong about how he died); maybe he was biased.

Or maybe Hogwarts was lying.

Well, only one way to find out. "I'm serious about freeing the house elves," Hermione said. She doesn't usually make decisions without consulting at least a dozen books and thinking it through, unlike either Harry or Ron, but the imagine of Winky, scared and alone in the Quidditch World Cup, sealed her resolve. "Let me help you."

"Really, you would?" Hogwarts' eyebrows lift in surprise. Whether real or feigned, Hermione didn't know. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"What would you like in return?"

Hermione paused. She didn't have a good answer to the question right now, and she thought it was highly suspicious that Hogwarts naturally assumed that she'd want something in return, instead of simply helping from the goodness of her heart. "I'll tell you later, can I?"

With a swift nod, Hogwarts replied, "I guess you're a reasonable person. I could go for that. Deal."

The pocket watch chirped. "Oh dear, I should let you get back to sleep," Hogwarts vanished her tea. "Oh, uh, could you avoid telling anyone you've seen me? I'm not exactly supposed to wander around student's minds. And - " she looked at Hermione with pleading eyes, "can I come back tomorrow night? Please?"

"Of course." How could Hermione answer otherwise?

And then she blinked, and when she woke up, she saw the curtains of her four-poster bed over her, and she felt like she hasn't slept a wink last night.

* * *

"_She's not going to like it when she finds out the truth."_

"_I didn't lie to her."_

"_You didn't exactly reveal the full truth either."_

"_Yeah...but she's a _witch_. She's not going to want to help us if she knows that freeing us means Hogwarts will die."_

"_I know. But, Hogwarts, can you claim to live now? We're already dead. Can we let them live?"_

"_I'd like to think we're just speeding up the inevitable."_

* * *

**AN: **The title...

There's a book that I read when I was young, where the main themes involved the protagonist's father's plane and freedom. I don't remember what it's called, but...yeah. The title is _symbolic_. I promise you. No one gets wings. Oh, and if anyone knows what book I'm referring to, please tell me.

I...tried to make Hogwarts what I'd think a twentyish elf would be like, and then tried to make her easily distractable, since she has _thousands _of voices speaking in her head, so to speak. Also, she's fairly isolated and she's bored to death. She has no context of what's going on in the real world, and only vaguely gets to know what goes on in between her walls – she gets information when the house elves bother to tell her, when the headmaster tells her, and when a house elf dies within the walls of Hogwarts (which isn't a common event, and she gets to see only what the house elf saw during his/her lifetime, which isn't the most useful of knowledge, but is why she speaks modernish English. Also because I didn't want her to speak like she walked out of Beowulf). She's spent the last _thousand years_ trying her best to free her people and getting nowhere.

As for how powerful Hogwarts is – very. Obviously, she's _Hogwarts_. But her powers are bound to the current Headmaster – she can't use them herself. She knew about the basilisk, for example, but couldn't get rid of it herself. She can walk into any unguarded mind but must announce herself, and she's an excellent Occlumens.

Incidentally on pronouns – Hogwarts is technically of both genders of the same time. She's androgynous enough to come across as both male and female, but she has enough female attributes to get read as female (blah blah 'male is default in our society' blah blah).


	2. Ch 1: Things Left Unsaid

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't profit.

**Music: **Disciple's "Things Left Unsaid". I do prefer the acoustic version. This has no blasted relevance whatsoever, but hi. I really like that song, and I'd titled this chapter with the intent at nodding at the fact that incomplete truths are kind of important to this story, and then I got the song stuck in my head.

But yeah. Feel free to try to read between the lines. I like doing that to canon.

**Posted: **12 May 2014

* * *

**Chapter 1: Things Left Unsaid**

* * *

Hermione looked over at her clock and sighed. Four. Twenty. Seven. In the morning. There was no blasted way she could fall asleep and wake up again before seven, so she elected to get up instead, quietly getting dressed in her normal school robes. She took one look at her hair in the mirror, sighed, and wrote it off as a lost cause, as usual. She's never cared much about her appearance.

Then, she walked to the window, sliding between curtain and windowsill, and looked outside at the castle she now called home.

It was, quite simply, magical. Filled to the brim with ambient magic. The stairs moved. The portraits talked. Suits of armour walked around. This was a place of _magic,_ and it was home to her in a way the muggle world could never be again. She hadn't been born with a wand in hand, sure, but after four years, she's gotten used to having it there. And not having it during the summers was simply _weird, _like she was always just a little bit off balance.

How much of this ambient magic was elven? And what would happen to that elven magic when the house elves were free?

_"We were placed in slavery after losing the Isoldian Civil War in the year 1057 and tasked with building this castle."_

Hogwarts itself was quite large, she knew, and it would have been an incredible feat for four wizards to build. She'd always chalked it up to the Founders being exceptionally magical, but this truth, this truth made so much more sense. She imagined an army of Dobbys and Winkys working on the castle, putting up the stone walls, adding the pendants that fluttered even when there was no wind, the many towers, the richly carpeted stairs that moved on their own, all the components that added up to this giant, amazing castle.

Sometimes, she felt that the castle was overly large for the number of students it held. There were really only about seventy kids per house for a total of approximately 280, far fewer than what the castle could hold. The castle felt warm and cozy and welcoming, yes, but it looked much larger from the outside than the inside. Most wizarding places are the other way around. Hell, even the tents were far larger on the inside than they were on the outside.

She'd seen the Marauder's Map, seen all the rooms that currently weren't in use and weren't accessible, and she wonders why it was built this large in the first place.

_No use theorizing without data. _She needed to go to the library, to get more information, to _think_, but curfew didn't lift for another hour and a half, so she couldn't leave Gryffindor tower yet. She could go to the common room if she wanted light, but there wasn't any books there, something that'd always annoyed her to no end. Still, it'd be nice and peaceful with no one else awake, and she could go over her Transfiguration notes from yesterday. (What had they been working on again?)

She debated telling Harry and Ron about Hogwarts. On one hand, they were her best – and only – friends, but on the other, Hogwarts _had _asked her not to tell anyone, and betraying someone who could literally _walk into her mind _seemed like...not the best of plans. Could she even lie to Hogwarts? What could Hogwarts do to her if she lied? She had no clue. Add another thing to the research list.

_"We don't consider lying a sin, per say. It's been our greatest strength for as long as we've existed."_

Then again, would Hogwarts even mind?

On that topic, she supposed she should ask Hogwarts to prove her identity next time they met. It _would _be pretty annoying to just find out that this was just some prank from the Weasley twins. How the heck they'd pull that off, she had no clue, but she couldn't rule that out yet. They were quite inventive, and if they'd just apply themselves they could be some of the best students Hogwarts has ever seen.

And she should cross-reference everything Hogwarts said.

Oh well, it'd be unlikely that Harry or Ron would awaken before eight anyways, _so no point dwelling on this_. She had an hour and a half that she should probably use effectively, and ruminating was not an effective use of time. You didn't become Hogwart's best student without some good time-management skills, after all.

* * *

Well, _that _was a useless waste of an hour and a half. She'd gone to Hogwarts library as soon as she could. It had turned up nothing unexpected, as guessed, but it was nice to have proof. There were no books on Occlumency outside the restricted section of the library. As blasted predicted, Dark Art and all. Hermione wonders if she could possibly convince some professor to let her look into the Restriction Section. Pity Lockhart was stuck in St. Mungos; he'd sign anything for her.

Isoldia turned out to be some random tiny trading city-state with no other distinguishing features other than a particularly bloody civil war, stretching from 1048 to 1057 AD, between the assumed-dead princess Arythenia and the king's bastard daughter Lumi; it apparently involved at least one incidence of tar being poured over the city walls onto rebel soldiers and then set on fire. Gruesome. But irrelevant.

And elves, well, didn't appear to exist, according to the Hogwarts library. At all. No mentions of them with regard to Isoldia, no mentions of them with regard to Hogwarts. Strange.

She hadn't had time to look up Medea – she'd had class at eight. Arithmancy, a subject she'd thought would be like maths but actually turned out to be closer to Numerology. But she'd heard of the legend before. Something about a Golden Fleece, and a Greek hero named Jason. How that turned into war, she didn't know.

She had barely enough time to grab breakfast before heading off to class. Unlike some other Gryffindors she did have to care about her grades. She was a Muggleborn, after all, and she was deeply aware of the wizarding world's prejudice against Muggleborns, and she needed all the help she could to get anywhere in this world.

Arithmancy today wasn't particularly interesting, as always. Sometimes, she wondered why she still bothered taking this class. She couldn't make head or tails of why the magic numbers were magic numbers. (The numbers of stability: 2, 8, 20, 28, 50, 82, and 126? What?) Oh well, she had Charms next, and she should finish the Potions essay in her hour break between Charms and Transfiguration.

* * *

Twenty inches of Potions essay later and a hand cramping from holding the quill for so long – seriously, why did wizards still use those things? Hadn't they heard of fountain pens? – Hermione found herself rushing to Transfiguration, almost late. She'd wanted to finish the essay; it'd taken slightly longer than she'd expected. Twenty inches on what caused potions to explode wasn't the most interesting thing in the world, and it annoyed her that Snape had assigned it to Gryffindors only, as commencement of Neville's one hundredth melted cauldron. But that was Snape for you.

A productive morning, she supposed, but at the cost of waking up at four _twenty-seven _in the morning and feeling like she hadn't managed to sleep at all. _Hopefully Transfiguration is practical today_. Her hand felt like it'd fall off at any moment, and in her tiredness she found it more difficult than usual to concentrate on a lecture. She'd nearly fallen asleep in Charms, and her notes were more spotted with inkblots than usual. Oh well. She could remove them later. It was one of the first charms she taught herself.

* * *

_If there was a way to slam the flap of fabric covering the door to the tent, Arythenia would have. The young princess was volatile and easily angered._

_And she didn't like losing._

_She stripped off her sweat-soaked clothing, searching her tent for a clean tunic and finding none. Figured. It was war after all, and she'd long gotten used to the lack of comforts. She might have been born a princess. That didn't mean she needed to live like one.  
_

_She heard footsteps outside the door. "Mildred?" she called out, before realizing that like all elves, Mildred was quite capable of walking silently. Flames erupted from her hands as she spun around.  
_

* * *

Transfiguration had always come easily to Hermione, and today was no different. McGonagall usually had her working with Neville. She'd found the spell – which was meant to turn one item of clothing into another – relatively simple to do. Unlike most transfigurations, it was permanent, but in exchange it was a fair bit more limited than most spells. Even in the magical world, matter couldn't really be created. You couldn't have more fabric in the end than what you started with, if you wanted your transfiguration to be permanent.

Figured that the laws of physics still had to hold.

Neville, as usual, was having some trouble. He had the double whammy of being rather slow on the uptake and not particularly strong as a wizard either, and the pressure of being the pureblood son of two of the Aurors in the last generation probably didn't help either. Hermione spent most of the class going over the proper Latin pronunciation for him (there were some benefits to having dentists as parents).

On the off chance, she asked him to join S.P.E.W. after class. He declined. Of course. Purebloods.

* * *

_He is used to being invisible, but not like this._

_Long ago, when his wife was still alive and his child wasn't born yet, he'd been a spy. And he still knew how to lie. And people were good at ignoring slaves. He's learned how to use that well._

_He is exhausted. He is used to being exhausted. He knows he will succumb to exhaustion soon. They all will.  
_

_But that doesn't mean he can't fight back. When it came to war, everything counted.  
_

* * *

"No S.P.E.W. canister today?" Harry asked, sitting down beside her in the Great Hall. Ron sat down on his other side, his attention already focused completely on his food.

"No." Her reply was absent-minded; she _was _reading a book after all. _Hogwarts: A History. _She had read it before; she's reading it again, looking for inconsistencies she missed the first time around. Or maybe she's using it as a shield.

The very first Hogwarts class has graduated eighty people. Twenty from each House. They're all listed in the book, and she recongized some of the surnames. Sir Cadeyrn Potter of Gryffindor. Lord Felix Black, Slytherin. Galene Dumbledore, Ravenclaw.

Amazing how long some of these pureblood families lasted.

"I thought you got rid of the Time Turner?" Harry's voice interrupted her musings.

"I did?" What did that matter?

A pause. "How many classes are you taking this year?" His voice was laced with worry.

"Not all that many." She looked up. "I did learn my lesson from last year."

Then she ducked behind the book again. There had to be something in here. Had to be.

* * *

It wasn't until after lunch until Hermione remembered who she really should be talking to. Invisible indeed, if even she could forget.

It took her a while to find the painting. She doesn't sneak out at night as much as Harry or Ron. But she eventually found it, and she tickled the pear.

There, she saw two unexpected familiar faces, and also a platter of sandwiches. "Dobby? Winky?"

"Missus Hermione!" A rather warmly-clad Dobby practically dashed over to her. Hermione recognized the scarf and hat set he was wearing as one of her own (rather lopsided and inelegant) creations. He also sported what appeared to be multiple pairs of socks and a sweater with the letter F on it that Hermione suspected once belonged to Fred Weasley.

Behind him, the crumpled mess in a dress known as Winky simply _hic_'ed. A bottle of Butterbeer slipped out of her hands and shattered against the cold stone floor of the kitchens, and several of the house elves scrambling around gave Winky dirty looks. Dobby hurriedly cleaned up the mess, apologizing profusely the entire time.

She was just about to reassure Dobby that neither Winky nor himself had anything to apologize for when a house elf on Hermione's right asked, "Would the missus like an apple butter scone? Some fruit? A little tea?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," she replied, with a small smile.

"- Biscuits? Coffee? Pie?" came from her left.

"- A sandwich? Muffin? Croissant?" from her right.

"No, really, please, no thanks." She was backing up now, hands raised almost defensively. The elves seemed far more aggressive than they usually were, pressing food upon her as if it was suddenly their life goal to get her to accept at least one thing to eat.

"- Chocolate? Hot chocolate? Pumpkin juice? -"

"- Danish? Roast chicken? Cake? -"

"Please!" Her back was up against the door now; the elves pressed in from every direction, lifting trays laden with food into her face. Hesitantly, she took a biscuit.

And all the elves backed off. Several of them gave her glances that quite clearly said, _now there, that wasn't too hard, wasn't it?  
_before bashing their own heads against the wall.

Hermione looked from the elves to the biscuit in her hand several times. Certainly, the elves hadn't been nearly as aggressive the last time she visited the kitchens. Jesus Christ, did S.P.E.W. actually make them _that _angry?

Oh. Dobby was _still _apologizing. What was he apologizing about now? "Don't worry about it," she replied, automatically. "No, really, Dobby, don't worry about it."

Then, quietly, she asked him, "Is this because of S.P.E.W.?"

He nodded, very rapidly, before hitting himself in the forehead with a shoe.

Hermione rushed to stop him. "Dobby, you don't have to do that. No, really, Dobby, you don't." She had a sinking feeling that he had to. _"You can't free those who don't want to be freed." _But Dobby was free, wasn't he?

Time for a change in tactics. "Dobby," she said, with as much authority in her voice as possible. "I order you to stop hitting yourself."

If he paused, it was only for a split second. Did she imagine that disapproving look? Okay. Another change in tactics. She racked her brain. "Dobby, I won't ask you any more questions about freedom." No pause. "Or about Hogwarts."

He stopped, and her heart sunk.

Hogwarts had ordered his silence. Nothing else made sense.

* * *

She fumed her way through the rest of the afternoon, trying her best to come up with a way to confront, well, the castle she's been living in for the last three-and-change years. _Hogwarts_, _why would you do that_?

And she had the sinking, sinking feeling that she really should have anticipated it. _"__Your kind and your silly distinction between Dark and Light magic__"_made Hogwarts a Dark Witch, at best. Come on, slow down girl, analyze it. She knew that Hogwarts can and will lie. _Okay. Why would she say something like that if it's a lie? _It seemed far more like a slip of tongue than anything else.

"_Honor, truth, fidelity...all more obnoxious than simply leaving that behind. When it comes to war, and I don't remember a time where we haven't been at war, everything counts." _

Then again, Hermione didn't know what type of rules Hogwarts played by, if any. How in Merlin's good name she was supposed to negotiate with someone like that?

"Think Dumbledore will let us try for the Triwizard?" Ron's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Ron!" she admonished him instinctively, "last time the Triwizard Tournament happened, a cockatrice broke lose, went on the rampage, and managed to injure all three Headmasters!" Honestly, did those two never _read_? "Who knows what kind of dangerous tasks they'll come up with this time?"

"So? It'll be _awesome_. Come on Hermione, it can't be more dangerous than a basilisk and we've already faced one of those."

She looked toward Harry for backup; he merely shrugged, helping neither her or Ron. "What if they bring in a Nundu?"

"Then Lucius Malfoy will throw a fit before it comes anywhere near anyone. Hermione," Ron replied, "Given what happened, I'm sure they'll be extra careful this time. They're more likely to swing the other way, make sure there's nothing actually dangerous."

Hermione can't find anything to argue back against, so she slammed her Transfiguration book shut and stormed out of the room, headed towards the library. Maybe there she could pay more attention to Transfiguration and less attention to figuring out exactly what she was going to shout at Hogwarts.

From behind her, she could hear Ron saying, "Yeah, mate, she does seem to be distracted by something." and then there are footsteps following her.

* * *

_Arythenia ran._

_She ran as fast as her thirteen-year-old legs could carry her, navigating the dense forest by memory, fleeing the castle she grew up in. Her newly-cut hair flapped around her face._

_Princess. She should have known what that word meant. She should have known that she was destined to be married off, that she would never get to rule on her own._

* * *

It took the Trio a while to find a good spot to talk: the Gryffindor Common Room was quite occupied (by people _still _gossiping over the Triwizard Tournament), the first three classrooms they checked contained Ravenclaws and Slytherins _studying _intensely ("Of all things! It's the second week of term!" said Ron), and of course the library was just simply out of the question.

They found themselves by the lake; Hermione recounted the events of the previous night, supplementing with the research she managed to do so far.

"So, I suppose this is going to tie into this year's random appearance of Voldemort," Harry deadpanned when she was done. "Either this or the tournament."

Ron was much less flippant.

* * *

_They work through the day, and through the night._

_By day, they build the castle according to commands. By night, when the Founders sleep, they stay awake, forcing themselves onwards, building secret passages and hidden rooms that one day may be discovered, hiding their secrets for another generation._

_They know they are doomed; their kind might not be._

* * *

**AN: **So. In the lines of me rambling on various things..

This is intended to be simpler than _Mercenary. _So no Chekhov's armory, but if you guys knew me, you'd know that I can't go two steps without inserting some unnecessary complexity _somewhere_. (I'm in the middle of planning a _Frozen _fanfiction that started off with me noticing that chocolate comes from the New World and currently contains one instance of someone getting set on fire.) Feel free to guess at what I'm trying to get at, but** please no spoilers in the reviews** :P I'm mostly consistent with book canon, reasonably consistent with movie canon, but as far as I care, the video games don't exist. Also. *cough*. 2, 8, 20, 28, 50, 82, and 126. Anyone recognize this one?

Additionally, I view pairings as warnings and not promises. I don't...usually like doing romance/romantic bits. Just saying. If I announce a pairing, it means "this pairing may appear, please don't read if you don't like it" and not "these two characters will end up together."

Thirdly, see my tumblr (nightshadequeen dot tumblr dot com) for more random ramblings and why I interpret canon the way I do :P

Fourth: A review bribe. If you review (or PM) me with constructive **criticism**, with emphasis on the criticism, I will review something of yours in return. With constructive criticism. I'm specifically only counting reviews/PMs that mention at least one thing I'm doing _wrong_. Please tell me what you'd like to see reviewed in return.

I am completely serious about this.

I'm also vaguely considering running contests - first person to guess, say, where that sequence comes from gets a review or gets me to write, say, around 2-3k words on a prompt? What do y'all think? PM/review?

Finally, I managed to somehow confuse Medea and Medusa. Oops. Medea Wars, not Medusa Wars.

* * *

Preview for next part:

"_Why can't they just get along?"_

_This was a question that Hermione often asked her dad when they're standing in front of the huge world map. She was looking at Israel right now; her father had drawn in lines separating Palestine from the rest of Israel._

"_That's an excellent question, my dear." Charles Granger picked up a small plastic toy solider from a nearby table.  
_


	3. Ch 2: Lies, More Lies and Occlumency

**Disclaimer**: Don't own, don't profit.

**AN:** I went back and added to the previous chapter since it felt a bit, well, short. If you read the previous bit before this was posted, I'd recommend going back. (The prologue has a bit more too, but not all that much.)

There's a lot more worldbuilding than what this story really needs, so I'm somewhat considering omakes.

Trying my hand at InDecline!Hogwarts. Wheee! Goblins will make an appearance eventually, and like elves, they have no good reason to like humans. (It really does bother me when goblins suddenly start helping Harry for no good reason whatsoever. Sorry).

It's a fairly slow start for a reason. I don't think Hermione would trust Hogwarts right off the bat; Hogwarts isn't going to trust _Hermione _right off the bat, etc.

WRT to morality, bashing, etc. I believe in gray-vs-grey, with characters (and societies!) doing the best they can with the information they have. I am going to treat all the characters as fairly as possible. All of them. Elves. Goblins. Humans – muggles, muggleborn, and pureblood alike. In a similar vein, expect no additional Chosen One mechanics or Special Once-Off Items that don't exist canonically.

WRT to inconsistencies between this chapter and the previous...I do intend them.

Oh, I'm mostly ignoring _Pottermore_, and in some cases, outright messing with some of the smaller details of canon to make it slightly more consistent with, well, reality. For example, Sir Cadogan cannot possibly be a Gryffindor if he was also a Knight of the Round Table, since King Arthur existed between two to four _centuries _before Hogwarts was founded.

**M****usic: **"Angel with a Shotgun", The Cab

* * *

**Chapter 2: Lies, More Lies, and Occlumency**

* * *

Two households, both alike in dignity,  
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

The wind swept through, ruffling their hair, bringing promises of a rain to come soon. They were sitting under a tree by the lake, and the foreboding weather meant that they were the only people outside. _Why here? _Hermione didn't really know, but she suspected that, for some reason, she felt less spied-upon out here than she did inside the castle. Sometimes, she wondered about the portraits. Did they report to Dumbledore? Could Dumbledore free the elves if he wanted to?

More things for the list of questions.

"I'm not sure we should be getting into this," Ron was saying, staring off across the lake.

"Why not?" Hermione asked. _What a role reversal_, she thought, with _Ron _of all people being cautious this time around. It was usually her job, to be cautious and careful. It was usually _Harry's _job to dash forward on principal alone.

"Elves...aren't exactly known for being nice people," Ron started. "There's stories Mum used to tell us, about elves and goblins and how they'd trick humans. Steal human children and the like." He made a sort of awkward fluttering motion with one of his hands. "Not anymore, of course."

Hermione didn't quite know how to respond to that. _And yet you trust them to be your bankers_ was an option, maybe, except she knew that Muggles had a fairly close parallel with their treatment of Jews forty or so years ago, so she couldn't speak about that. And that's nothing on the profoundly horrible treatment towards anyone with even slightly darker skin. True, the British weren't nearly as bad as the Americans, but...

"Like what?" Harry asked, before Hermione could select the right thing to say.

Ron paused for a second. "There's an epic Mum used to read to us, when we were younger. Elves kidnapped the young princess of Isoldia and turned her against her own people, and the hero had go and capture her heart to bring her back."

"Which hero?" That didn't match at _all _with the history Hermione had managed to acquire from the library so far. Why was this city coming up again and again?

"Lumi, the Bringer of Storms," Ron replied. When Hermione didn't react to that, he asked, "does he not exist in the Muggle world?"

Hermione shook her head no. Yet another thing that differed between the wizarding world and the Muggle one, she guessed, an entire world of mythology she somehow never managed to run across so far. She made a mental note to see if Hogwarts' library had any fiction books the next time she had the opportunity to visit...

"...and then the elves kidnapped the princess and brainwashed her into hating her own people and there were like thirty pages of really boring songs that I don't remember and..." Ron was saying.

Right. She should not zone out in the middle of a conversation. "How can you be sure that your legends are true?" she asked. After all, Muggles had legends too, and as far as she knew, none of the Greek gods or goddesses had ever existed.

"_Oh don't tell me they don't teach you about the Medea Wars either."_

Then again, those just might be true as well, and given all the odd things that happened in the magical world, she supposed that Zeus might not be entirely too out of place...

But if then, where did magic go off to? If it was so powerful back then, why are wizards hiding and Muggles in control of the planet, so to speak.

Ron's voice broke into her thoughts. "Do you guys have the legends of King Arthur as well? With, you know, the Knights of the Round Table, like Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir Cadogan..." He trailed off as all of them remembered just where they've heard that name before.

"The portrait of that knight on the seventh floor?" Harry asked. "I wonder when that was painted."

Hermione paused, trying to remember. "According to _Hogwarts, A History,_" she began, hesitantly, "Sir Cadogan was a _Gryffindor_. But King Arthur, if he existed, did so in the late 5th to early 6th century..."

"And Hogwarts was built around 990 AD," Harry finished for her. "What! I may have never read _Hogwarts, A History_, but I'm certainly capable of remembering what you've told me about it!"

"And you still do poorly in Binns' class." It honestly bothered Hermione that neither of her two friends applied themselves in any class other than Defense of the Dark Arts. Sure, it might be rather _difficult _to pay attention to Binns' monotone voice, but that's what taking very detailed notes was for. "Speaking of Binns..."

"Yes, yes, we'll add him to the interrogation list after that crazy knight," said Ron. "Although I suppose you should do that, since you're the only one doing well in his class."

Hermione nodded eagerly. More information was always useful. "Speaking of that, would you mind finishing the story about Lumi and Isoldia?"

"Where was I..." Ron thought for a while, and then continued, "Oh, yes. And then Lumi took the ring he got from the Queen, and when he took it to the princess, she fell in love with him. And she turned against the elves, and in her rage, she burned them to ashes. And then the princess and Lumi lived happily ever after, and Lumi ruled Isoldia – "

"– Until a plague killed them off not much later..." Hermione finished for him.

"Well, that's not in the legends," Ron said, simply.

"It was in the history of Isoldia I read this morning. What? What else did you expect from me?" With a sigh, Hermione pulled out a quill and some parchment, ready to chart this mess until it made sense again, but she was interrupted by Harry saying, "I'm not sure I see the point of any of this." He looked at Hermione with a sigh. "Look, 'Mione, I get that you don't want to see anyone enslaved, but I'm not sure if house elves could even handle freedom."

"Dobby seems to be handling it just fine," Hermione retorted, but then she remembered the sodden, drunk mess that was Winky. Another person she should possibly talk to, and as soon as possible.

"Dobby wanted to be free," Ron replied.

"They were forced to be slaves..." Hermione said. "At some point of time in their history, they knew what it was like to be free."

"It's been a thousand years. A lot of things change in a thousand years," said Harry.

A million things rushed through Hermione's brain. Thousand years. Yes. That basilisk that Harry slew, back in second year, must have been sealed within the castle by Slytherin himself while it was being built. (Did Hogwarts know about the basilisk? She should ask that. Another thing to the list.) A topic in history class from back when she still thought she was just a Muggle, something about the white man's burden? And a question she should have asked much earlier. "Did...either of your families own house elves?"

Ron dipped his head. "Yes. Our last elf was sold after my great-grandfather died. He...didn't leave a will, and his six children couldn't figure out a way to divide his estate without liquefying it."

Hermione looked towards Harry.

"I don't know," he replied. "I...actually don't know the extent of my inheritance. I've seen the Gringotts vault, but nothing beyond that."

She flat out _gaped _at him. "_How can you not know!" _She wasn't even an orphan and she had a pretty good idea of her parents' financial assets, just in case. And Harry was the sole heir of the House of Potter, and he probably had all sorts of claims on all sorts of titles at this point...and to not know anything about it.

Oh.

How did they get on this topic of discussion in the first place?

What did being a wealthy pureblood _mean _in wizarding society anyways? Did titles mean anything, or could any random person claim to be a Lord? (Isn't that what Voldemort did?) More things to add to the research list.

"I suppose I should figure that out," Harry was saying.

Then again, if the heir of the House of Black could get thrown into Azkaban without a trial..._Come on_, _girl, _Hermione thought to herself, _you should be able to figure out how this world works, you've read enough about it._

But what if the books were wrong? _Hogwarts, A History _flat out contradicted what she thought she knew about the history of the legends of King Arthur. What if they were simply propaganda? Hadn't Goebbels said something like "If you repeat a lie often enough, people will believe it, and you will even come to believe it yourself."

No. Unlikely. If Hermione had to suspect someone of lying, she'd definitely suspect Hogwarts over the Hogwarts library.

"I suppose we should gather more information," Ron was saying (stealing Hermione's line once again; what was this strange backwardness that's come upon them?)

"Yeah, I guess," Hermione replied. They divide up her list-of-things-to-research-and-people-to-ask among the three of them.

"But no, seriously, 'Mione," Ron said. "And I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I think you should...be careful...with this whole S.P.E.W. thing. Freeing the elves is probably not good for them, and certainly not good for us."

"I know," she replied. "But I still don't think anyone should be a slave. Not like that."

And this, this she truly believed. Yes, Hogwarts was probably a lying manipulative bastard, but everyone deserved freedom.

The conversation ended after that – Ron to finish the essay on potions, Harry to Quidditch practice, Hermione back to the library. (Despite the last three and change years, they were still students, and unfortunately still had to do things like essays.) Long afterwards, two things came to Hermione: firstly, according to Hogwarts, elves weren't enslaved until 1057AD, and secondly, Lumi had been the king's bastard _daughter, _not son. Hermione sighed. She really need to chart all of this.

* * *

"_You were like a sister to me." Lumi kneeled on the dirt ground outside of Arythenia's cell._

"_I know, Lumi." Arythenia lifted her head as best she could. "Do you think I had a choice?"_

"_Yes." _

_Arythenia let her head fall down on her chest, her dirty mane of hair falling in front of it._

"_You always had a choice, Arythenia. You know your father would have done anything for you."_

"_I wasn't his daughter," Arythenia replied in a whisper. "You are."_

* * *

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

~ USA Declaration of Independence, drafted by Thomas Jefferson

* * *

"_Why can't they just get along?"_

_This was a question that Hermione often asked her dad when they're standing in front of the huge world map. She was looking at Israel right now; her father had drawn in lines separating Palestine from the rest of Israel._

"_That's an excellent question, my dear." Charles Granger picked up a small plastic toy solider from a nearby table. "You love me, yes, my little general?" He often used that nickname for her; she rather liked it. Liked the idea of being a general, calm and commanding in battle._

"_Yes, daddy. Of course." As usual, Hermione had no idea where her father's line of questioning was going, but she'd figure it out in time._

"_And if anyone ever hurt me, what would you do?"_

"_Call the police, of course."_

"_Let's pretend there's no police. What would you do then?"_

_She paused. "I...don't know."_

"_Would you be angry? Would you want justice for me?"_

"_Yes. Of course."_

"_And if there were no police, would you take justice into your own hands?"_

* * *

But the most brilliant propagandist technique will yield no success unless one fundamental principle is borne in mind constantly and with unflagging attention. It must confine itself to a few points and repeat them over and over. Here, as so often in this world, persistence is the first and most important requirement for success."

~Adolf Hitler, _Mein Kampf_. Often mis-attributed to Joseph Goebbels

* * *

That night, Hermione visited the library in her mind again, and Hogwarts was there, once again with a cup of tea. "Congratulations," she said, "for looking in a place most witches and wizards wouldn't. Pity I had to stop you." She smiled; it did not reach her eyes.

"What was that for, Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. "You didn't have to make Dobby punish himself -"

"Your Headmaster is a Legilimens," Hogwarts cut her off. "And I could leave nothing up to chance." All bits of yesterday's randomness and little smiles were gone; she looked as serious and weary as any battle-hardened solider.

"_When it comes to war, and I don't remember a time where we haven't been at war, everything counts."_

"Hermione," Hogwarts continued, leaning over the table towards Hermione, "Understand while I would do anything to free my people, it's been nearly a thousand years. We have waited this long; we can wait for longer. And right now, I'm far far more worried about you jeopardizing my mission than you abandoning me." Her blue eyes flashed darkly. "So. This is what will happen. I will teach you Occlumency; you will teach your little friends Occlumency."

"And what if I disagree?" Hermione replied, as calmly as she could.

"Then I will wipe your mind and also the minds of your friends."

Only later did Hermione notice that Hogwarts' voice was different – it wasn't the voice of a thousand elves, but the melodic, alto voice of a single female elf.

But for now, she just simply nodded. "Okay." After all, Hogwarts hadn't asked her for anything yet, and learning Occlumency might just be helpful. She didn't know if Hogwarts could carry out her threat, but she certainly didn't want to find out.

Hogwarts settled back down into her chair, taking another sip of her tea. "Thanks. You should get started by getting acquainted with your own space." She gestured around.

Hermione stood up, looking around. Her mind-space was quite a bit larger than what she had originally thought. Bookshelves formed a pair of staircases leading to an _entire second floor _she'd managed to miss so far; they framed the fireplace symmetrically. She observed the books on the first floor first; perhaps there was some importance to the ordering? She could see little; books about Hogwarts' history next to books about permanent Transfiguration next to books on explosive potions. Her fingers itched to rearrange the books by subject, or something.

Incidentally, how did she know what these books contained without having to open them? She supposed it was _her _mind-space.

She concentrated on making just the first floor _make sense_, and to her surprise, books began flying around, apparently on their own. Right. Mind-space. _Stop expecting things to work in a Muggle way, are you a witch or not?_ Here was a book on the fifth goblin war, there went a book on potion ingredients that were likely to cause explosions no matter what they were mixed with. Hogwarts watched Hermione as she organized.

Some books, Hermione found, contained memories that were effectively useless (did she really need to remember what she had for lunch yesterday?) Others were much more useful, but probably didn't need to be in her mind-space's atrium. And after her rather long day, it was somewhat...relaxing? maybe?...to sort through her memories of the day like this. For that's what they were, she realized. The books in the atrium all things she's had to think about today.

Afterwards, she wandered upstairs, only to be greeted by piles and piles of books, all stacked precariously on top of each other. The Gryffindor-themed furnishings weren't nearly as prominent up here; actually, it rather resembled some sort of attic filled with dusty books. Hermione winced. Is this really what the inside of her head looked like?

_"With Occlumency, you can guard your mind, make it run more effectively, organize it, and so on," _Hogwarts had said.

She hadn't expected _this much _reorganization.

By the time Hogwarts came upstairs to tell Hermione that dawn was coming and she should really wake up soon, Hermione had already made a sizable dent in organizing the cavernous space. A fairly sizable amount of floorspace now sprouted shelving that she'd somehow managed to will into existence; books continued to be piled in stacks around the shelving. Reference numbers hovered over some of the shelves, matching the reference numbers used by Hogwarts' library. She hadn't managed to find the far walls of this place yet, and she suspected there was _additional _space under the flooring, but still. A reasonable start.

"Wow, you're catching on pretty fast," Hogwarts commented, glancing around. "We might be able to get to actual Occlumency within the week. Oh, by the way, this is for you." She handed Hermione a scroll, waved, and vanished.

Hermione opened the scroll carefully, having existed in the magical world long enough to realize just about anything could be booby-trapped. A voice she didn't recognize said, _"The Sacred Twenty-Eight, huh. I wonder why the Potters aren't on this? I thought they were a really old pureblood family...and why are the _Weasleys _of all people on this? Why? And I don't see the Dumbledores either..."_

Hermione slammed the scroll shut, shutting up that strange stream of consciousness that ran through her head. What _was _that? She had the slight inkling that it was someone else's memory she'd been listening to.

Oh well. Two more things to add to the research list.

* * *

**AN:** In the line of "why did I ever think this was a good idea"...Arythenia used to be a half-vampire. Whose inhuman paleness was attributed to her having _chloroplasts_.

And yes, this is my angry response to genderbent stories.

**Preview**: No preview for the next part since I'm working a lot on a one-shot...but a preview for the one-shot:

_Twelve years ago, Hermione walked in the ruins of the same castle, and she asked Harry, "What are you going to do with the Elder Wand?"_

_He had simply looked into her eyes and told her, "I plan to die peacefully." Simply. Easily. And they buried the wand again with Dumbledore, because as far as any of them were concerned, it was Dumbledore's. Even now, Hermione remembers this as clear as day; the house elves singing for their fallen brethen, witches and wizards crying for the deceased, McGonagall chanting spell after spell, the castle reassembling itself, the trees of the Forbidden Forest rustling in the winds._

Easier said than done, Harry, _she thought. _

_I__n the present, the house elves sing, and the castle rumbles, and Harry is dead. __Hermione looks at the ring, and puts it on. "__Harry James Potter," she calls out to the wind._


End file.
